


Reeling in the Years

by Flagg1991



Category: The Loud House (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-15 21:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18507697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flagg1991/pseuds/Flagg1991
Summary: The life and times of Lincoln Loud and his family from 1957 to the new millennium.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> December 1957: Part 1

It was December 11, 1957: D-Day. Lincoln Loud had been building himself to this for almost a month, setting dates then chickening out the morning of. November 15, November 28, December 8. This time, however, he was going to do it: He was going to ask Ronnie Anne Santiago to the winter dance.

This was a task easier said than done: Ronnie Anne was the most beautiful girl Lincoln had ever seen and he was...well...he was what his brother Lynn called a 'weak sister.' He was short and scrawny with snowy white hair, cowlick, freckles, and chipped teeth. His arms were thin, his legs were thin, and he wasn't very...manly. Other boys liked football or baseball, Lincoln liked comic books and the kinds of movies that played at the Palace Theater during the afternoon...movies with monsters, giant bugs, spacemen, and aliens. Some of the kids at school called him a dork, others called him a geek, and a couple even called him a square.

What chance did a guy like him have with a girl like Ronnie Anne, a girl with long black hair, big brown eyes, and sensuous lips?

Not a good one, but he couldn't sit on his hands forever. Like his old man said, you have to take risks in life or you'll never get anywhere. Lynn said something similar: No risk, no reward. He got that one from his football coach, and Lincoln hated to admit it, but he was right.

That morning, he woke just as the first gray light of dawn was spreading across Franklin Avenue: He was so early that he was awake before even Lynn, who got up earlier than anyone else: As Lincoln crept into the hall, his brother lay in the next bed over, his mouth open and drool coursing down his chin. Gross. Lincoln didn't like sharing a room with his brother, but when you have five siblings, there isn't much space. His sisters all shared rooms: There was Lori and Leni in one room and Luna and Luan in the other.

Speaking of Luan, was she really waiting by the bathroom door? Who was in there? And why were they up this early?

Great. And he thought he was going to get to take a shower this morning.

Head bowed, Lincoln walked up behind his sister, who, he noted, was dressed for the day in a simple plaid dress and knee-high socks. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and held in place by a white satin ribbon. So...she'sbeen up.

When she heard him, she turned and lifted a brow. "You're up early."

"So are you," he replied.

She grinned. "It's an historic day, Linc. A happy, historic day."

Lincoln stared blankly. Luan rolled her eyes. "I'll give you a hint. It has to do with school and coloreds."

Oh, that's right! Lincoln was so caught up in Ronnie Anne that he completely forgot today was the day Royal County schools were being desegregated by order of President Eisenhower. Yeah, it was a good day; Lincoln's family was fairly liberal and unlike a lot of people in town, he didn't have anything against coloreds. In fact, his favorite singers were all colored. Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Fats Domino. Cool cats.

When you got down to it, though, Lincoln didn't care: As long as he was going to school with Ronnie Anne Santiago, everyone else could be white, black, purple, or green. Speaking of Ronnie Anne...did it really have to be today? He could wait...

No, no, no, he was procrastinating again. It did have to be today.

Oh, but he was scared. At this moment, he had hope – he had a chance. After asking her...that might be all down the drain, and the world would be so, so much darker. He didn't like to admit it because it made him look weak, but he was kind of sensitive, and he didn't know if he could take the rejection.

No risk, no reward.

"...good day for equality," Luan said, and preened.

Lincoln nodded. "Yep." Let's just hope it's a good day for love.

Shortly the bathroom door opened, and Leni came out in a pink robe, her silky blonde hair hanging past her shoulders. Leni was even less of a morning person than he was. "What are you doing up so early?" he asked.

"I had a nightmare," she said, "and I couldn't get back to sleep." She shivered at the memory.

"Let me guess," Lincoln said, "spid –"

Leni's face went white and she plugged her ears with her fingers. "I can't hear you, I can't hear you, I can't hear you." She turned to walk into her room, but collided with the door. "Ouch." She took her fingers out of her ears and opened the door, slipping in and closing the door as quickly as she could lest someone mention the dreaded 'S' word again.

Shaking her head, Luan went into the bathroom and closed the door. Alone in the hall, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. He tried to ignore the sick nerves roiling in his stomach and the way his heart throbbed, but that was like trying to ignore...being alive or something. He didn't know. He swallowed against a sandpaper throat and took a deep breath. You're just asking a girl out. That's all.

Only no, that's not all it was. This was Ronnie Anne Santiago...the only girl he had ever truly liked. If he messed this up, it was all over.

He was drumming his fingers on his arm when Luna came out. Like Luan, she was already dressed for the day, wearing pedal pushers and a loose fitting gray sweater, the pointed white collar of an under shirt folded over the neck. She wore her brown hair short, like a boy, which turned a lot of heads in town. She was smooth and easygoing, but she wasn't afraid to dust-up: She spent a week out of school at the beginning of the year because some guy called her a dyke and she punched him in the face. She saw him and her brow crinkled. "Wow, you're up early."

"It's a happy day," he said in a tone that was anything but happy.

"Yeah?" she asked, coming over and leaning against the wall next to him. "You gonna ask that Ronnie girl out?"

Of all his siblings, he was closest to Luna: She was the only one he mentioned liking Ronnie Anne to. "Yeah," he admitted, "there's a dance next week and I figured, you know, why not?"

She nodded. "Yeah, why not? You're a cool guy. You got all those good qualities. Kind, gentle, all that, she's a lucky girl."

Lincoln sighed. "I just hope she says yes."

Luna put her arm around his shoulders and squeezed him close. "Something tells me she will. Just be natural, you know, yourself."

"What if she doesn't like me as me?"

"Then find someone who does."

The door opened, and Luan came out. Luna grinned. "Morning, square!" She ducked around Lincoln, shoved Luan out of the way, and went into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind her.

Luan sighed. "That wasn't very fair," she said. "You were first."

Lincoln shrugged. With five older siblings, he was used to getting short shrift: Not a day went by that someone didn't cut in line, take something of his, shove past him, use him, tread on him, or manipulate him. That's life. They did it to each other, and, you know, Lincoln wasn't above doing it himself. He wasn't the strongest or the biggest or the fastest, but he did plan, and every now and then, his siblings ceased being his siblings and became pawns instead. Luan was the only one who never really did that, though. She had a strong sense of justice and that led her to live clean – though, hey, everyone's human.

When Luna came out of the bathroom, Lincoln went in, used the toilet, then stood in front of the tub, debating with himself whether or not he should take a shower. On one hand, the water was going to be cold...on the other, he really didn't want to stink...not on today of all days.

Sighing, he stripped out of his pajamas and jumped into the tub, turning the hot water on full blast. To his surprise, there was just enough gas in the tank to give him lukewarm water: He hurriedly scrubbed the most important areas (butt, front, armpits), then cut the spray just as it started to turn icy. He toweled off and hopped out, goosebumps racing up and down his arms as the cold air caressed his body. He brushed his teeth, flossed, and gurgled with mouth wash. He cupped his hand to his mouth, exhaled, and sniffed. Ah, minty fresh.

He wrapped his towel around his waist and threw open the door, starting when he got a face full of Lynn, his brows heavy under his crisp crewcut. "I was wondering where you were," Lynn said. "I better have hot water."

Before Lincoln could stammer out a reply, Lynn shoved him out of the way, went into the bathroom, and closed the door. To be honest...Lynn kind of scared Lincoln a little. He could be a monster at times, and it was a rare day that he didn't drag him into a noogie, an Indian burn, or a wedgie at least twice.

In his room, Lincoln hung his towel up and pulled on a pair of underwear, followed by an orange polo shirt that he tucked into his jeans. Next came a white wool cardigan button-up sweater with deep pockets. In one was the black and chrome transistor radio Lori bought him for his last birthday: He listened to it on his way to school and on his way home, and sometimes in bed after Lynn fell asleep. He wanted one so bad because the only radios in the house were the cabinet model in the living room and Luna's; Dad listened to his shows on one and Luna listened to music...constantly...on the other. The only problem with his was that it was kind of tinny. Oh, and it was kind of heavy and made a strange bulge in his pocket. He was grateful for it, though.

In the kitchen, Luna and Luan were eating breakfast while Dad flipped through the morning paper, half dressed in brown pants and a white undershirt. He worked on an assembly line at one of the many automobile factories scattered across the Detroit area. He was union and made decent money, and every month he got a check from the government for being wounded at Normandy: A Nazi bullet shattered his kneecap and took him out of the war not two months after he deployed.

When Lincoln entered, Dad looked up. "Morning," he said, then turned back to the paper. Mom stood at the stove in a flowing blue housecoat, her back to Lincoln.

"Morning," he said and sat, grabbing a glass bottle of milk and filling his cup halfway.

Leni came in wearing a sleeveless pink dress with white polka dots. Lincoln didn't notice it before, but heavy black bags hung under her eyes. That spider dream must have been a doozy. "Is there coffee?" she asked.

"Best in town," Dad said without looking up from the paper. Leni went over to the counter, took a mug from the cabinet, and filled it with coffee. She sat down and sipped it.

"You look like something the cat dragged in," Luna said, and forked a piece of egg into her mouth. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Leni said, "just, like, tired."

"She had a nightmare," Lori said, coming in. She was dressed in a blue dress, her blonde hair pushed back from her forehead and tucked under a white headband. "She literally kept me up all night." She dropped into the chair next to Leni and took a sip of from Leni's mug. "It was about spiders."

Leni shuddered. "They were everywhere."

"Honey," Mom said, turning and setting a plate in front of Leni, "we've talked about this. Spiders are more afraid of you than you are of them."

"No they're not," Leni moaned, "why would spiders be afraid of a Leni?"

"Maybe because you're literally one hundred times bigger than they are," Lori offered as Mom sat a plate in front of her.

Leni gasped. "I am not fat!"

Lori opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again. With Leni, sometimes you just had to cut your losses and move on: She wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but she was sweet and kind and caring, and as far as Lincoln was concerned, that's what mattered at the end of the day. Still...dealing with her could be kind of frustrating.

Speaking of sweet and kind and caring, the complete opposite came in from the living room wearing a red and white letterman jacket with an "R" over the left breast for Royal Woods. He went to the counter, grabbed a glass from the cabinet and came over to the table; he clamped his hand on Lincoln's shoulder and squeezed as he reached for the milk. "Thanks for the cold shower, you little runt," he whispered into Lincoln's ear. Lincoln winced under his brother's grip. Lynn grabbed the milk and sat, pouring a measure into his glass.

"Morning, honey," Mom said. She came over and sat a plate in front of Lynn and Lincoln.

"Morning, Mom," he said as he rubbed his hands crisply together. Lincoln favored him with a sidelong glance and hoped his shower was really cold.

Mom poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter. "Is there a game tonight?" she asked.

Lynn shook his head. "Nope. It's Wednesday, Mom. We play on Fridays."

Mom's brow crinkled. "It's only Wednesday?"

"Yep," Luan piped up.

"That's what the paper says," Dad confirmed.

Mom shook her head. "I'm losing my mind." She took a sip from her cup.

"You should get out more," Lori said. "See a movie."

Mom chuckled. "There's nothing I want to see at the movies, dear, and when you're a grown up, you have responsibilities...such as housework."

"Housework isn't what it used to be," Dad said into the paper, "you've got washers and dryers and vacuum cleaners. What used to take all day takes two hours tops."

Mom laughed again. "You think so."

"Watching the television set isn't housework," Dad said and folded the paper. He smirked at Mom, and she slapped his arm. The family TV set was new, bought over the summer with Dad's yearly bonus. It was square and boxy with woodgrain and a sideways oval screen; it picked up three whole channels of broadcast goodness. Lincoln's favorite show was Have Gun Will Travel, though Gunsmoke was a close second. Lori and Leni liked the game shows, and Lynn never missed the All-American Football Game of the Week program on Sunday nights, though it was on pretty late at 9:30, and Mom really didn't like him staying up on a school night. Lincoln bet his mother really did watch TV all day; he would if he was home.

"You better get dressed if you don't want to be late," Mom said as Dad snaked his arm around her hips.

"My shirt?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Ironed and hanging up," she said.

"Alright." He stood up and pecked her on the lips: Luan and Lynn both grimaced. Gee, you'd think they were against kissing or something.

When breakfast was done, Mom kissed each one of them, oldest to youngest, then sent them out the door. It was cold and just beginning to snow when Lincoln stepped onto the porch. He shrugged into his jacket and was zipping it up when Lynn bumped into him. "Outta the way, dweeb."

"See ya, Linc," Luan said as she brushed past and went down the stairs. She and Lynn both went to Royal Woods Middle, which was two blocks away, past the park on Schoolhouse Road. The elementary school was across the street and slightly down. Lori and Leni went to the high school, which was way on the other side of town. Missy Johnson, one of Lori's friends, drove them most days, and speaking of the devil, here she was now in her dark blue Chevy sedan with pointed tail fins. When Lincoln was little, he had a huge crush on Missy...but his tastes grew more refined over the years, and now he was attracted to Ronnie Anne Santiago...who was way better looking.

"Bye, Lincy!" Leni cried and planted a kiss on the top of his head. From the brightness of her eyes and the bounce in her step, Lincoln inferred that either the memory of the spider dream was long gone...or the coffee was taking effect.

Lori came next, closing the door behind her. "You waiting for the rapture, Linc? Go on." She shooed him away.

"Bye to you too," Lincoln said, and went down the stairs. As he followed the sidewalk, he took his radio out and turned it on, a news broadcast coming in weak and staticky. "...today in Washington. National aeronautics experts are watching the Soviet satellite closely as..."

Boring.

Lincoln turned the dial and found a station playing music and grinned. There we go. Nothing takes the old edge off like a little music...and come to think of it, the edge was getting kind of sharp. Every street he passed brought him closer to school...closer to the moment of truth...closer to his great joy...or his great sorrow.

Hey, no pressure. It's not like you got just one chance with this girl – the most beautiful girl in school – nope, and it's not like your entire happiness hinges on whether or not she says yes. Chill, relax, be cool.

Sigh, he didn't feel cool. He felt tense, nervous. He was so nervous, in fact, that he didn't realize he was crossing a street until breaks screamed. He jumped and uttered a tiny cry. All he could see was windshield and chrome grill. Whew. Heh, that was a close one, Linc. You almost –

Bobby Santiago stuck his head out the driver side window, a cigarette jutting from his lips. "Hey, you mind gettin' outta my way?"

Lincoln gulped. Bobby was Ronnie Anne's older brother and, like, the coolest guy in town: He wore a leather jacket like James Dean and drove a 1948 Coupe with flames on the sides. He smiled nervously and lifted a hand. "S-Sorry." He hurried across, and looked over his shoulder as Bobby peeled off. One of his friends was sitting in the passenger seat, a guy with blue eyes and slicked black hair. He flipped Lincoln off.

If he was as cool as those guys, he wouldn't have to worry about Ronnie Anne not liking him: Girls loved guys like them. Well...not all girls, but he bet Ronnie Anne would. He could see himself now striding through the hall in a leather jacket and a pair of boots, the cuffs of his pants rolled up. Everyone stepped aside, looks of adoration on their faces. Ahead, Ronnie Anne turned her big, beautiful brown eyes up, and a blush spread across her face.

He was crossing another street, but thankfully no one was coming.

I really gotta stop doing that.

Five minutes later, he crossed Schoolhouse Road and stopped, his brow furrowing. Two police cars sat in front of the school, their red lights lazily revolving in the falling snow. A small group of people stood behind yellow sawhorses lining the walkway to the front door. As Lincoln watched, two cops in black winter coats escorted two black kids past the crowd, a girl in a white dress and a boy in jeans. No one spoke, but Lincoln saw a few sneers of disgust.

Yeah...I'll just go in the side.

He crossed the athletic field and went in through a door to the cafeteria. He paused, turned his radio off, and looked around: About two dozen kids were eating breakfast and talking. He checked his watch, saw that the bell rang in five minutes, and made a hmmm sound. Where was everyone? Usually at this time the lunch room was still packed. Not that it mattered, he guessed, just as long as...

When his eyes fell on Ronnie Anne Santiago, his heart bounced into his throat. She was sitting alone at a table by the wall and staring down at an open textbook as she absently ate an apple. She wore a purple dress and matching shoes, her shiny black hair pulled back in a ponytail with a purple elastic. The familiar, longing ache clenched Lincoln's stomach, and for a moment all she could do was stare. He traced the gentle curve of her jaw, her slender throat, lingered on her freckled face and soft brow. A hazy smile touched his face, and a dreamy sigh passed his lips. Oh, what he'd do to make her his girl.

Do it then, a voice said from the middle of his head. It sounded like his brother Lynn.

I-I-I can't do it right now...I just got here. I'm not ready.

You'll never do it. You're a candy ass, Linc. A weak sister.

No, I –

You're a pansy, Lincoln. A delicate little pansy woman.

Hey, wait just a –

You won't do it, chicken. You're too much of a fragile flower.

Lincoln took a deep breath. He was starting to get angry, and the fact that the voice was only a manifestation of his own subconscious only made him madder. He looked at Ronnie Anne, so beautiful, and his anger faltered, allowing fear to spill over the side like water over the sloping deck of a sinking ocean liner. H-He couldn't...what if she said no?

No risk, no reward.

He imagined himself holding hands with Ronnie Anne, and the vision was so clear that he could feel the happiness that simple act would bring him, and that's what decided him. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his resolve and crossed the cafeteria, his heart jackrabbitting so hard he was surprised no one else heard him. Each step brought him closer to her, closer to the moment he would ask her to the dance, closer to probably being rejected and laughed at.

Was it him, or was it hot in here? He was sweating bullets.

He reached the table and stopped, his hands at his sides. That probably looked stupid. He put them behind his back, then slipped them into his pockets. For a moment Ronnie Anne was completely oblivious to his presence, then she turned, her body leaning away from him. Her brow crinkled cutely. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice like sweet, heavenly music.

For a moment Lincoln completely forgot how to speak. You're crashing and burning, Loud! Lynn cried from the middle of his head.

I know!

Then stop!

"...You alright?" Ronnie Anne asked.

Lincoln forced a nod. "Uh, I'm fine, I was just, you know, kind of...wondering if...you and me could, maybe...you know...go to the dance."

There.

It was out.

It had been done.

Ronnie Anne regarded him for a moment, an inscrutable expression on her face. It could have masked elation or disgust...or constipation. It was what the cowboys in Have Gun Will Travel called a 'poker face'.

She pulled her lips back in a tight lipped smile. "Dances really aren't my bag. Sorry."

Lincoln's heart crashed into his stomach and erupted into flames. The pilot, poor guy, didn't have time to eject: He was trapped in the cockpit as fire swallowed him whole. "Uh, oh...o-okay."

He made no move to leave. What are those things called? Legs? How do you operate them again?

She raised her eyebrows. "That all?"

He gave a jerky nod.

"Alright," she said, nodding in return, then looked back at her book.

Lincoln didn't realize he was walking away until he found himself in the hall. A group of kids were clustered by the front door, craning to see into the office. A teacher came along and shooed them away. He felt numb, cold, like his heart had been left overnight in a snowbank. Rejected. Just like he knew he would be.

He drew a heavy sigh and started toward his classroom, his head bowed. By the time he sat and the bell rang, the shock had worn off and his chest ached with loss. He took a series of deep breaths, but the pressure weighing against his heart did not lessen. If anything, it grew. Kids were streaming in now. At any moment, Ronnie Anne would come through the door, and he would spend the next hour trying not to look at her, trying not to pine.

And that's exactly what he did.


	2. December 1957: Part 2

Lyrics to Little Bitty Pretty One by Thurston Harris (1957)

 

***

Time passed quickly, but it also passed slowly. It was hot, then it was cold. He wanted to crawl under the covers and sleep until he was dead, but he also wanted to take a long walk – heck, a long run. When the lunch bell rang, he dragged himself to the cafeteria, his eyes glued to his red low-tops, his body moving on instinct.

In the lunch room, he crossed to his usual table – where he sat each day, alone – and dropped onto the stool. He planted his elbows onto the table and rested his face in his upturned palms. He sighed and wished for the hundredth time that he didn't ask her out. Before he had hope, and potential – now he had only heartache.

Stupid.

He was the stupidest kid in all of Royal Woods...and maybe in all 48 states. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and he looked up. A black boy with glasses sat across from him, his eyes guarded and wary. He was wearing a long sleeve button-down with pink and black pinstripes. Lincoln sighed. "I can leave if you want." What did it matter? Right now he could sit in a trash can or on the Queen of England's throne, and he'd be sad just the same.

The boy didn't reply for a moment, then he slowly shook his head. "I don't care."

Lincoln sighed again. Why was he so stupid? Why did he think a girl like Ronnie Anne would want a guy like him? He was a geek, a cube, a white-haired, chipped-toothed loser. Too bad Bobby didn't run him over. It would have kept him from being stupid and would have hurt less.

"Rough day?" the black boy asked.

Lincoln nodded. "Yeah. Very rough."

The black boy nodded. "I feel your pain. The janitor called me a nigger." He broke out laughing, waving his hand in front of his face as if to dispel a cloud of humor. Lincoln looked up at him and cocked his eyebrow. That wasn't exactly funny...

"You either laugh or you cry," he said when he sobered, "and I'm not in the mood to cry today."

"I am," Lincoln said.

"You look it. What, uh, what's wrong, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I'm stupid," Lincoln replied. "I thought...I thought 'Hey, Linc, why not ask Ronnie Anne Santiago to the dance? You have a shot. Go 'head.' I did, and she said no." He raked his fingers through his hair and blinked back a rush of tears.

For a moment the boy was silent. "I assume, given her last name, she's that Hispanic girl in the purple dress over there."

Lincoln nodded miserably.

"Well...I don't know much about girls, but she keeps looking over here, and that either means she likes you or she doesn't."

Lincoln's heart clutched. "Great," he moaned, "she's probably thinking about what a dud I am."

The boy shrugged. "I honestly can't help you. At least you got up the nerve to ask a girl. I'd have probably spazzed out." He opened his milk carton and stared down into it, then looked up. "How'd you do it?"

Lincoln wound the memory back through his mind, and cringed. "Stupidly. Stutteringly."

"Oh, yeah, that's rough."

Lincoln nodded. "Yeah. Not as rough as...I mean...you must have it."

The boy shrugged. "I was expecting worse. No one's roughed me up yet, and the only person to call me a nigger was that janitor." He grinned and shook his head. "Kind of strange being around so many white people, though."

Lincoln could imagine. He didn't have anything against Negros, but he imagined he'd be pretty uncomfortable being the only white face in a sea of black. "Are you scared?"

"A little," he said. He took a sip of his milk. "Guess if you're doing something that makes you afraid, you're living, at least."

Lincoln nodded. In a way, he felt even worse than he did before: It was a crying shame that someone had to be afraid going to school just because of their skin color. This guy...whatever his name was...seemed alright; Lincoln hadn't known many coloreds in his life, though there was a boy he played with when he was little who moved away. His name was...God, what was it? He couldn't remember, but he was the only friend Lincoln could remember ever having. "I'm Lincoln," he said now.

"Clyde," the boy replied, and they shook.

"You sit here a lot?" Clyde asked.

"Yeah," Lincoln nodded. "I don't really hang out with anyone else."

"How come?"

He shrugged. "I just...I guess I live in my own little world." He grinned. That was pretty accurate, actually. He read comics, listened to music, and did his own thing. He was friendly with some of the guys in class, but they weren't really friends.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Clyde said. "I kind of do too. What do you like?"

"Comic books," Lincoln said.

"Yeah?" Clyde asked, interested. "What kind?"

"Like Superman and Ace Savvy."

"Oh, I love Ace Savvy," Clyde said, "did you read the new one?"

"Where he literally knocked The Card Counter's head off?"

"That's the one! And it was falling off the side of that building and still screaming."

They both laughed. "That's one way to get ahead," they said in unison.

"You're pretty cool," Clyde said. "You like rock and roll?"

"I sure do," Lincoln said. "Little Richard's my favorite."

"Yeah, he's cool," Clyde said. "I like Elvis." He glanced away. "Some guys at my school – my old school – said it wasn't cool for a black guy to like Elvis. What's wrong with Elvis?"

Lincoln shrugged. "He's alright. It's kind of weird...you know, Jailhouse Rock."

Clyde tilted his head. "What's weird?"

"Well...he's talking about, you, like Number 40 calling Number 43 the cutest jailbird he ever saw or something, and they're all dancing..."

Clyde blinked. "I still don't catch your drift."

Lincoln faltered. "Well...they're all guys, right? Jails don't put men and women together..."

Understanding dawned in Clyde's eyes, and he snickered. "I guess when you've been in the poke for a while, you get kind of funny."

"Do you have a TV?" Lincoln asked.

"Yeah, we have a Zenith. Best on the market."

"Do you watch American Bandstand?"

Clyde shrugged. "Only every afternoon."

Yeah, Lincoln decided, this guy was cool. "What else do you watch?"

"I like Dragnet."

Lincoln tilted his head. "Which one is that?"

"It's a cop show. It's pretty boss."

Lincoln opened his mouth to ask what channel it was on, but the bell rang. Shoot. And he was kind of having fun. "Well," Clyde said, and downed his milk, "back to the ol' grind, as my dad says."

"Yeah," Lincoln said. He got up and started to turn, but stopped. "I, uh, I feel kind of better now."

Clyde nodded. "Me too."

"I'll see you around?"

"Sure!"

Lincoln grinned and nodded. "Alright. See ya."

As he walked away, Lincoln felt pretty good, actually. Oh, the pain of Ronnie Anne's rejection was still there, but making a friend was kind of like...he didn't know...aloe on a sunburn. It helped. Of course...that aloe would eventually wear off and the sunburn would sting like hell again. Sigh. Hey, sunburns heal, right? Maybe broken hearts do, too.

In the hall, he went to his locker, and paused: A folded piece of paper jutted out from one of the slats. Uh...what's this? He plucked it out and opened it. A message. Written in pencil. Meet me by the flagpole at 3pm.

Lincoln stole a glance around, but didn't see anyone acting suspicious, just kids on their way to class. He turned back to the note and read it again. The flagpole? Usually if someone wanted to meet you by the flagpole after school, they wanted to punch your lights out. No one had any reason to punch his lights out, so...maybe it was something else? Maybe it was...

His hopes soared.

Tucking the note into his hip pocket, he opened the locker, grabbed his books, and hurried to class, getting there just as the bell rang. He took his usual seat at the front of the room and resisted the urge to look behind him at Ronnie Anne, who sat behind and across. Was she the mystery note-leaver? He bet she was! Oh, this was great! Still in the game, Loud, Lynn said from the middle of his head, she wouldn't be slipping you notes if you weren't.

I know, Lynn! Cloud 9, baby, Cloud 9!

The rest of the day passed at a crawl, his excitement growing until he could barely sit still. When the final bell rang, he jumped up and went to his locker like a bullet, ripping it open and throwing his books in, not caring about the homework assignment Mrs. Johnson gave him. Outside, it had stopped snowing, and a light dusting covered the ground, a cold wind kicking swirls into the air. The flag rippled in the breeze with a crisp sound almost like a beacon. Come here, Linc, wait for your girl.

Grinning ear-to-ear, he leaned against the pole and crossed his arms. Wait, did that look cool? Maybe he should put his hands in his pockets and stand up straight, but kind of at a slouch, you know, casual like.

Kids flooded the walkway and spread out into town as a school bus pulled away from the curb. Any minute now...

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Pretty soon, he was alone with the wind, and beginning to think that someone had played a cruel, cruel joke on him. He was just getting ready to leave when a voice spoke behind him. "Hey, Loud."

He whipped around, and the blood drained from his face. Billy Mason, the school tough, stood with his hands on his hips, his buddies Scut Farkus and Harry Bowers flanking him. Billy was a year older than Lincoln but a grade behind because he was dumb as a box of rocks. Like Bobby Santiago, he wore a leather jacket and motorcycle boots, the cuffs of his jeans flipped up, only it looked cool on Bobby...on Billy it looked scummy. His greasy black hair was in a D.A. and his thin lips were pulled back from his teeth in a hateful sneer.

Lincoln gulped and started to back away. These cats meant trouble. "H-Hey, guys," he smiled nervously, "I was, uh, just leaving."

"No you weren't," Billy said. He nodded, and Scut and Harry came forward. Lincoln would have run, but his legs were frozen: Scut grabbed one arm and Harry grabbed the other. Together they shoved him back against the flagpole.

Oh, man, this is bad, this is bad, this is bad...

Billy came over, his hands still on his hips, and stood in front of Lincoln, his bowed head shaking sadly back and forth. Lincoln's heart raced. He looked around for a teacher, a cop, Superman, but the wintery afternoon was deserted.

When Billy finally looked up at Lincoln, his muddled blue eyes were pooled with evil. "I see you made a new friend," he said.

Lincoln swallowed. Huh? A friend?

"The darkie," Scut said into Lincoln's ear, his rank breath hot on Lincoln's skin. Clyde?

Billy shook his head. "You see, Loud, we don't hang with those. We're better than that – even your candy ass...as strange as it may seem." He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. He flicked a button, and a thin, sharp blade shot out. Terror burst in Lincoln's chest like a bomb. A switchblade. Crazily he thought of the ads at the back of the comic books he read. Snaps open with startling speed. He was startled, alright.

Grinning like a loon, Billy pressed the tip to Lincoln's chest. Lincoln squeezed his eyes closed and started saying his prayers. "H-Hey, man," Scut said, "you're not really gonna stab him, are you?"

The point pulled away, and Lincoln let out a deep breath.

"Nah," Billy said, "I'm not gonna stab him." Lincoln opened one eye; Billy closed the blade and slipped it back into his pocket. Then, like a shot, he punched Lincoln in the stomach: The air rushed from his lungs and hot pain enveloped him. He doubled over and then fell to his knees as Harry and Scut released his arms. Billy squatted down and grabbed his cowlick, lifting his head. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood today, Loud, or you'd be pushing your guts back in with your fingers right now."

Lincoln panted for air.

"Stay with your own kind from now on, huh?" Billy said. He lightly slapped Lincoln's face and stood. "C'mon, guys."

They departed, and for a long time Lincoln remained on his knees, cold, slushy snow soaking through the fabric of his pants. Even after the pain had passed and the tears had dried, he didn't want to get up...didn't want to face life. If God was merciful, the Cold War would pick this very minute to turn hot, and a Russian bomb would drop on his head and blot out the terrible, awful, rotten –

"Hey, you okay?"

Lincoln looked up, and froze. Ronnie Anne Santiago looked down at him, her books clutched to her chest and her brow soft with concern. His jaw dropped open and his Adam's apple bobbed. Uh...

Say something, Loud.

He blurted the first thing that came to mind. "I got my ass kicked." His face turned beet red.

Smooth, Loud, real smooth.

"I kind of figured something like that happened," Ronnie Anne replied. "Not many guys kneel in the snow for fun."

"Yeah...it wasn't very fun." He sighed and got to his feet. Time to gather the shattered remains of his dignity and go home.

"Who did it?" she asked.

"Billy Mason," he said. He and Ronnie Anne were standing face-to-face. Lincoln rubbed the back of his neck.

Ronnie Anne nodded understandingly. "Yeah, that guy's a dirtbag. Stupid, too."

"Yeah," Lincoln said. "Well...I'll see you around." He turned and started leave.

"Hey, wait up!"

He stopped and Ronnie Anne came up beside him. "Since I'm the one who found you, I'm kind of responsible for you," she said. "At least until you get home."

Lincoln blinked. Get home?

She sensed his confusion. "I'm gonna walk you home," she said, "and make sure you don't pass out or anything."

Walk him home? That was great! And not so great. Great because he liked her...and not so great because he liked her and she didn't like him, and being around her was like...he didn't know...a starving guy being around a sandwich he couldn't eat.

Okay, it wasn't right to compare her to food – she wasn't, she was a person – but you get the idea.

"That sounds cool," he said, and they began to cross the athletic field. He didn't know what else to say. Talk about the weather? About getting his ass kicked? "I missed Bandstand," he blurted.

"Yeah, so did I," she said. "No one good was on today, anyway."

"Why were you so late?" he asked. "I mean...it's gotta be past 3:30."

Ronnie Anne sighed. "I had detention."

Lincoln looked at her. "Detention? What'd you do?"

"I put salt in Mr. Wycowski's coffee."

Mr. Wycowski was the gym teacher. A lot of the kids called him Mr. Square because he was a real buzz kill. Lincoln couldn't help but laugh. "Why?"

"Because he's a doofus, that's why," Ronnie Anne said and giggled. "Man, you should have seen the look on his face when he took that first gulp. His eyes were bugging out of his head."

They both laughed.

"Why were you late? Or were you there on your knees the whole time?"

"I, uh...well, someone stuck a note in my locker and said meet them by the flagpole at 3."

"Let me guess, it was Billy."

Lincoln nodded. "And his friends."

"Classic ambush," she said.

"Yeah, pretty much."

They crossed Schoolhouse Road and started down the sidewalk. "What'd you do to piss him off? Even he doesn't beat people up for no reason."

Lincoln sighed. "I was talking to that Clyde kid and Billy didn't like it, I guess."

Ronnie Anne looked at him, one eye squinted. "Who?"

"The new kid. You know...the colored."

She nodded slowly. "Ah. Okay." She was silent for a moment. "How is he?"

"He's cool," Lincoln said, "seems like a real good guy."

"That's good," she said. "I feel kinda bad for him. And that girl. I know what it's like."

For a moment Lincoln didn't understand what she meant, then it dawned on him at the same time she said, "Being Mexican and all."

"You're cool too," he blurted, and blushed furiously. Why do I keep saying stupid stuff?

She laughed. "Thanks. Not everyone thinks so. Making friends hasn't been easy."

Ronnie Anne and her family moved to Royal Woods three years ago. From where, Lincoln didn't know. He vaguely remembered there being a stir because she was Mexican, but he didn't really pay attention because he didn't care. He lived in his own little world, remember, and whether or not someone was Mexican really didn't concern him. Who? That girl over there? Sure, great. It wasn't until fifth grade that he even noticed her – how her hair shimmered in the light of the sun, how her eyes sparkled, how her smile, as rare as it was, lit up the room.

The fact that some people didn't like her because she was Mexican bothered him greatly. "I'm sorry," he said heavily.

"Eh, don't be," she said, "I'm kind of a loner."

"Me too, I guess. It's nice to have a friend, though."

She shrugged one shoulder. "You still gonna hang with him?"

"Clyde?"

"Yeah. Billy kicked your ass, after all."

Lincoln thought long and hard on that. He did not want another whomping, but he liked Clyde, and he wasn't too keen on letting some scumbag in a leather jacket tell him who he could and couldn't hang with. That's what a weak sister did, and no matter what Lynn said, he was not a weak sister. "Yeah," he finally said, "screw Billy."

Ronnie Anne snickered. "That's the spirit. You're gonna be pulling double duty, 'cuz you're a pretty cool guy and I think I wanna hang with you too."

Lincoln's heart seized mid-beat. He turned and looked at her, but she was facing forward: Maybe it was the cold wind, but her face was red. "S-Sure," he managed, "that'd be real swell."

"Cool," she said.

They were at Colman Avenue when a car pulled up beside them. Lincoln glanced over: It was black with flames up the sides. The driver window rolled down and Bobby stuck his head out, his trademark cigarette between his lips. Music drifted from inside:

Come on and talk-a to me

A-lovey dovey dovey one

Come sit down on my knee.

"Hey, where you been?" he asked, "I was lookin' for you."

"I was walking," Ronnie Anne said.

"Yeah? Well, now you're ridin'. Come on, we gotta go."

Ronnie Anne shook her head and looked at Lincoln. "I'll see you around, huh?"

Lincoln nodded dumbly. "Y-Yeah, sure."

She smiled prettily and then hurried around the front of the car, climbing in. Bobby looked him up and down. "You watchin' where you're goin' now, kid?"

"Yes, sir," Lincoln blurted.

Bobby laughed and took the cigarette out of his mouth. "Yeah, good, 'cuz you almost fucked up my grill earlier." He rolled up the window and peeled off, smoke rising from the tires.

Ronnie Anne Santiago wanted to be his friend...

Wow...

Grinning, the gut-punch totally forgotten, Lincoln walked home, a light, airy tune on his lips.


End file.
